La Figlia Del Fantasma
by Rubi Dharuddha
Summary: SEQUEL to L'Angelo Del Fantasma. Rose Conway has grown up without knowing her father. She has lived a full life with a large piece missing. Now she's on the hunt, to find the man who allowed her father to be killed. What will she find? Hate or love? R&R!
1. Chapter 1

**La Figlia Del Fantasma**

**A/N: I couldn't resist. So here's the sequel, I only hope I can catch your interest once again. This title (should) mean: The Ghost's Daughter. I do not own DVC characters I'm simply borrowing them. As you can see Rose is all grown up, about 20 years old now and is setting out on a journey to find a certain Bishop we all love to hate. Possible romance if my research proves fruitful for characters. Along with new chapters I shall be adding the name of a song I was listening to help with inspiration. A soundtrack if you will. For instance this first song is:****_ Feint by Epica  
_**

* * *

I never knew my father. 

At least not like a daughter _should_ know her father. He hadn't known about me either, that I had even been conceived. My mother said he had found out one night, she didn't know how, just that she had been working on one of her projects, startled out of her concentration by a floorboard squeak. She had nearly stabbed him, thinking he was a robber.

I was four.

She told me how perceptive I had been, that even though I had never met the man before, I recognized him as my father. Some toddler sixth sense had allowed me to know who he was before anyone had told me.

Flashes of memory come back to me, when I really think about that time, so long ago. I see pale skin, hair whiter than snow but not from age, he and my mother holding one another for a moment. I think I remember his eyes the most, I say I think because I could look in a mirror and the eyes I remember stare back at me.

My mother says I look more like him. I'm inclined to agree. My mother has the look of the traditional Irish lass. Red hair, green eyes, freckles covering her skin like a blanket of constellations. If we were to stand next to one another, I doubt very many people would say we were related.

I don't suffer from Albinism as my father apparently did but I do have many traits similar to his. My hair is a very light gold blonde. It's hard to tell some days if it's gold, or if it's white like my father's was said to be. My skin is pale, much paler than my mother's and when I attempt to absorb sun to gain more color, I simply turn red and feel as though I've been cooked through. The only feature I've inherited from my mother are her freckles, even though they don't look like they belong on my face. I'm too pale. My eyes are the same color as my father's, even without a picture I know, having seen them in my mind's eye for years.

The closest thing I have to a photograph is a sketch my mother drew before I was born. According to her it was the catalyst for my parents ever knowing one another. It hangs in the hall of the apartment we've lived in for, God only knows how long. I remember sitting in that hallway, staring up at it and memorizing every detail. He had a long pointed face, everything ending in sharp lines and angles with him. I saw that in myself, feeling more and more as though a piece of my father hadn't died and was surviving in me.

I was truly my father's daughter.

That sketch had comforted me often, when I was scared, angry, orsad and my mother wasn't home to comfort me, I would sit in the hall and stare, pretending he would come to life. That his charcoal likeness would dissolve from the paper and he would become flesh and blood, standing in front of me, looking to gather me up in his arms and tell me he was there to be my father.

He never did.

I had been aware since I was little that my father had died. My mother said he had left this world fighting for something he had believed in. I asked her once if she had believed in it and she had shaken her head no. According to her, she and my father had looked at faith quite differently, something neither could come to terms with when my father had died.

I could remember that too.

I had woken up that morning, finding myself perturbed by yet another foul dream about angels insisting my strange looks would keep me from heaven. My mother hadn't been there to comfort me so I left in search of her. I had started to walk down the steps hunting her down, when I had heard her crying. I stopped in the middle of the staircase and peered around the railing to see my mother sitting in the hallway, arms wrapped around her knees, staring at the sketch I myself would find solace in. A glass had broken next to her, the contents long since dried.

At the time, I hadn't known that my father had just died but my four-year-old heart was afraid that my mother was going to die as she stared at that sketch. Her breathing was shallow, as though she had forgotten how to do such a simple task. Her skin had gone paler than my own, her freckles popping against her skin, mocking smudges of color. Her green eyes were dull from crying.

I had never been more afraid for my mother than I had been then.

I prayed every night until I was seventeen for my father to come back. I wanted to know who he had been and more than anything I wanted my mother happy. It took me a very long time to realize that not all prayers are answered, because my father never came and my mother became miserable whenever she thought of him.

I myself was a constant reminder of this man named Silas, the man who had fathered me. She had tried to tell me once, what had been so important to him that he would leave his family behind and risk his life but even she didn't know. All she could explain was that my father had been a steadfast follower of a Catholic Bishop, a man who had allowed his own zealotry to control my father, to let him die. I came to hate this man as I journeyed through my own life without the guidance of a father and felt the pangs of jealousy as I watched other daughters, complete with their father's supporting them in all of their endeavors.

I suppose I should tell you, that my name is Rose Conway and I am going to kill the man who led my father to his death.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

**A/N: Song—Sleepwalkers Dream by Delain  
**

* * *

I want to make it clear that my mother had nothing to do with my decision. As much as she might have hated the man, I doubt my mother really intended for him to be murdered.

However, _she_ had had the luxury of knowing my father. I hadn't.

I had felt robbed my entire life, knowing that my father was out there somewhere, rotting, before ever _really _knowing what kind of family he had helped create. No child should ever grow up like that.

The man who had allowed it was going to pay for his crime.

I had sat in silence, drinking up every word my mother shared with me about my father, and _him_. She didn't know much herself, just that when she had first met him, she had trusted him as a man of the cloth.

"Father Aringarosa," my mother would say, "seemed to be a good man, he cared about your father, until they decided to make him a Bishop, then he decided sharing him wasn't an option." When I was younger, I had always thought my mother was exaggerating, that this Aringarosa couldn't possibly have done the things she said he had. A man of God wouldn't have let my father be led into some religious trap. As I grew older I knew she hadn't been, and my faith dimmed. Aringarosa had helped my father trip over the thick line between religion and zealotry.

I couldn't make an opinion about my father and what kind of man he was. I had my mother's side of the story, about a man who had been trapped in a tug of war between religious overkill and being in love. He had changed for her, she knew that, but whenever they had moved forward, something, usually pertaining to the Catholic Church caused them to fall behind once more. The last time that had happened, my mother had been left, pregnant and alone in a foreign country.

I didn't know if I should blame my father, for being so spineless to a man abusing his power or feel sorry for him. He had grown up in a world that cared less about a good man, than it did for the mysterious cause he had died for. The more people don't understand the more people become ugly, uglier than a man who had simply been born with different pigmentation.

How sick is that?

For sixteen years I had the time to think about Silas. My father. My co-creator. For sixteen years I struggled with my feelings toward Aringarosa. Part of me wanted him to know who I was, that I was the daughter of a pale man he was supposed to have cared about. The rest of me didn't give a damn about him knowing me, I just wanted him to suffer as much as _I_ had, knowing that short of resurrecting the dead, which apparently only happens to the most precious of people I would never even meet my father's gaze in passing.

I'm not sure why I decided killing Aringarosa was going to change anything, but the minute I thought of it and I contemplated his last breath, the more convinced I was that it must be done.

He needed to be stopped before he did this once more. Taking advantage of faithful minds and putting them to the ultimate test. Whatever it was.

I started planning a year ago, saving what little money I made working at the art gallery my mother sold to. I would use the money to pay for transportation to wherever Aringarosa was hiding. He had fallen off the face of the Earth days after his non-life threatening wound had healed enough for him to leave the hospital. His name never passed the lips of any news anchor or Opus Dei member for those sixteen years.

It made my decision to track him down and kill him, much easier. No one would miss him, if they didn't even know where he was.

I'm not cold hearted and it isn't as though assassination is my occupation of choice, but my father had died for this man, and not even my mother, the woman who had stolen my father's heart, knew what for. I simply could not live with that for the rest of my life.

If my mother knew what I was planning, I think she would have died. She had worked hard all of these years, to raise me as a good person, with faith and the ability to handle hardship. She had painted, sketched, and skipped life until she had saved enough money to start me at college. I had inherited her gift of artistry and planned on attending a French art school as soon as I could. I myself had done my best to finish my primary education with the best grades I could earn.

I hadn't yet begun to dream of ending Aringarosa's life until the summer. My mother had regaled another tale I had wanted to hear about my father. I had memorized every detail and was of course discomforted by the lack of my father in my life. It was simply unacceptable.

The summer I should have spent planning my future in college. Was spent planning the end of my father's mentor. I would find him, and finally my father and I would be at peace.

I hoped.

I'm not a murderer.

I would become one far too soon.

Now I just had to find him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait dear readers. School is evil sometimes, especially when it prevents you from writing. I assure, I would much rather be writing about Rose and her quest than listening to a TA blab on about Sound Design. Not that Sound Design isn't interesting it just isn't when your TA isn't a public speaker :0)  
**

* * *

It became apparent to me, not long after I began my search that finding a man with nearly unlimited resources was not going to be easy. If he didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be. Although this fact irked me a great deal I conceded to myself that I needed help.

I couldn't believe what I ended up doing. I looked for a Private Investigator.

It felt idiotic to have to call someone who's chosen occupation sounded as if it belonged in a seedy mystery novel. I scoured through numbers and resources looking for a firm that didn't focus entirely catching unfaithful spouses in the act. It took me days to find one, days I could have been using to find Aringarosa. It didn't particularly feel as though I were planning to find a treacherous man and kill him.

When I found a promising firm I went to meet with the investigator. From the information I had read, the man I was going to meet specialized in murders and finding those responsible. It seemed like a good start.

I swore to keep my plan to myself. Not that I was _planning_ to flaunt murder intent, however I would keep all but the most important details (those of my father's death) to myself. I needed this man's help; I didn't want to be sent to an insane asylum before I had a chance to finish Aringarosa.

I made my way there, finding a small brick front strip of stores. One near the end had a lit sign that blinking furiously. It seemed the man in charge couldn't afford to change the bulbs; very few seconds Investigateur Privé flashed at me as I approached. I pushed the door in, a small bell swinging into action, alerting whoever was in charge that I was there.

When they appeared behind the counter, I was sure he wasn't the man I had read about.

He couldn't have been that much older than me, but his wall was plastered with news clippings about solved cases and murderers being brought to justice. With each article there was an accompanying picture, the man in front of me was in them, shaking hands with people or smiling triumphantly over another case closed.

"Can I help you mademoiselle?" I looked at the dark haired man, my gaze somehow pulled from the many photos to brown eyes that looked at me intently.

"Uh… Yes. I'm looking for Ames Colville." He smiled and nodded.

"That would be me." His thick French accent wrapping around each word.

"Oh—" I gathered my thoughts for a moment and then decided there was no better time than now to explain my situation.

"I'm in need of a private investigator and I heard that you work specifically in murders and other criminal cases." He nodded again.

"I do. Is there something I can help you with?" It was my turn to nod.

"My name is Amelia Conway, my father was killed when I was four. I know the man who caused his death and I want to find him." Ames pulled out a notebook and began taking notes. He looked at me again.

"Can you tell me anything more about this man?" I gave a wry smile. I could tell him almost anything.

"What do you want to know?"

"Name?"

"Manuel Aringarosa."

"Occupation?"

"Bishop of the Catholic Church." The scratching of the pencil stopped and two very bemused eyes met mine.

"I would like to think I have a very good sense of humor mademoiselle, but if this is a prank…" I shook my head.

"This isn't a prank Mr. Colville. This man brought my father to his death. I want to bring him to justice. Bishop or not." He looked at me a bit longer, pencil still. Finally, after a moment he continued writing.

"Have you any idea where this, Bishop might be?" I looked at him, head tilted.

"If I did, I don't believe I would be here." He laughed and gave me that point.

"Of course. Where was he last seen?"

"He was shot in London, after that he was taken to a hospital, I haven't been able to find out which one."

"And your desire to find him stems from your father's death?" I nodded.

"Yes. He used my father's religious views to his advantage. I think he was looking for something, I don't know what. He let my father be killed for it." The man looked at me, slightly sympathetic. He looked to be one of those men that didn't share his emotions, probably a side effect of his profession. Either way, it was there briefly, only to disappear just as quickly.

"I see. And you wish to find him for?" the sticky part.

"I believe he should be behind bars. Brought to justice for what he did to my father." Dark brown eyes pierced mine. I almost felt like he could _see_ what my real intent was, as though it was right on the surface of my mind, ready to be fished out by prying eyes. I met his gaze not afraid of him, but that his investigative talents might find me out. He looked back down, finishing his notes. He slid the notebook across the counter.

"Please write down contact information so I can inform you about my findings." I did so feeling like I was signing my death warrant. He took the notebook back and gave me a slight nod.

"I will do what I can Mademoiselle Conway. I will contact you when I have information." I stepped back towards the door.

Could it really have been that simple?

Wasn't there more to it than that?

I left, feeling dark eyes boring holes into my back. Whatever was going to happen, I was fairly sure I wouldn't be able to keep my plan hidden from Ames Colville forever.

I could only hope Aringarosa would be dead before he figured it out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Despite what you may think, I didn't give up the search. I called the French Police, hoping to have some light shed on how my father was killed. I _of course _was stonewalled. A rookie was given my call and let me know that the "self-assigned" officer to the case was a one Bezu Fache, but he _of course_ was indisposed. I hung up feeling that what little faith I had in law enforcement had curled up into a little ball and died. As I may have said before, the Catholic Church became a clam when one of it's own (or out of fear for it's own hide, I'm sure) was under scrutiny. The minute I asked a particularly persnickety nun of the whereabouts or even news of Aringarosa, she stared at me with cold blue eyes and proceeded to tell me the Catholic Church was not in the habit of handing out the personal addresses of clergy, and most especially Bishops.

Which when decoded, means they didn't have a clue where he was either.

They _were_ apparently, willing to call the police on anyone interested in their top-secret run-away. I left muttering about how _love thy neighbor_ seemed to be an under acknowledged commandment. I didn't hear a reply.

I wandered home, tail tucked between my legs hoping that Colville had found something more worthwhile. When I opened the door to the apartment, I was greeted by my mother's humming as she puttered around in the kitchen, the splash of water trickling in time with her song as she washed dishes. I walked into the kitchen, my mother's back turned to me. The window over the sink let in a huge amount of light, enveloping her in a sunny glow. She was tall but not as tall as my father; her frame curved in all the right places and her hair, only just beginning to gray was fire in the light.

I can't express how jealous of her I am sometimes. I've never hated her for it, but my mother is perfection to me. My whole life I've strived to be just like her, whether through my art or as a person. I always seem to fall just short of the mark, my freakish looks alone make me a far cry from the woman my mother is, and no matter how hard I try, my art never captures what hers does.

I'm imperfect.

I think that's why finding Aringarosa is so important to me. It will finally heal me of my losses and everything I've ever felt empty of.

My mother finally noticed me, standing in the doorframe as she put a plate in the drying rack. She smiled,

"Rose, I didn't hear you come in." I shrugged,

"Didn't want to bother you." My mother gave me one of her famous half-smiles, shaking her head. I had always wondered if one of those smiles had caused my father to fall in love with her. Maybe it was her tendency to be philosophical and make perfect sense anyway, or her artistic talents.

Whatever it was. The minute my father had met her, he hadn't stood a chance. She turned back to the plates,

"I picked up a few art supplies on the way home from the gallery. I got you some of your favorite paints, they're in the art room if you want to work on a project." I gave a nod to her turned back and sauntered into the art room.

I had plenty of time to kill. With all of the dead ends I had found and no word from Colville as of yet, I didn't have much else to do.

Setting up a canvas I took a look at the colors she had brought me. I almost had to shake my head from the irony. Every single one of them was a different shade of red.

I took those colors and began to paint. My hand striking the canvas this way and that, cutting into it's stretched skin. Knifing out cuts and wounds, letting that visceral fog that I associated with Aringarosa to overtake me, letting it cloud my mind. I didn't even know what my hand was doing anymore, I barely heard as my mother came into the room and looked over my shoulder as I created whatever it was my hand desired.

Finally, it stopped.

I heard my mother's footfalls as she came to inspect my work. I felt her behind me, though she never said a word. I don't know if it was because there was nothing to say or because I had successfully begun to worry her.

When she left I finally let myself look at my work.

I couldn't say anything either.

I suppose I could have called it abstract. Or a personal reflection of life.

All it really said though; was anger.

As I watched the still wet paint drip freely across the canvas, only adding insult to injury, I felt my cell phone buzz in my pocket. I pulled it out and looked at the screen, realizing that the unknown number was that of Ames Colville and his apparently unstoppable investigating skills.

"Hello." I have to admit, now that I had someone helping me look for the answers, I was afraid of what they might be. On one hand I desired nothing more than to hunt Aringarosa down, but the other part was whispering to me that my plan was not that of a sane person. I should leave it be and let the dead rest.

That murmur was easy to kill.

"Miss Conway?" Ames Colville's voice sounded tinny and muffled.

"Yes?" I could feel my heart slow, fear, shock, anticipation, it all melded into one giant stone lying at the bottom of chest.

"I've found him."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

I stopped breathing.

"So quickly?" I said, suddenly finding myself again. How could he have found Aringarosa in less than three days and I had found nothing at all in the _months_ I had devoted to that very endeavor?

"It's my job mademoiselle." I was silent; he took this as a cue to relay his information.

"Would you like to hear my findings Miss Conway?"

Did I?

"Uh—Yes, please." I could hear the shuffle of papers and Colville taking a breath as he prepared to give her what he had found.

"Bishop Manuel Aringarosa is currently hiding in Spain." I felt the blood rush from my face. My body went cold.

"Where, exactly?" There was more shuffling of paper and a brief moment to collect my thoughts. Finally Colville answered.

"In a small village called Vejer." I was quiet, now that my quarry was becoming within reach, I didn't know how to respond anymore. Colville continued fleshing out the information he had gotten for me. Apparently finding Aringarosa hadn't been difficult for a man of his, "prestige".

"As you know Aringarosa is from Spain, therefore I think it's safe to make the assumption that he has returned to his birthplace. I do not have his home's location as of yet, however he apparently has started a small church and clinic in the area. All of his mail is forward there."

I couldn't help but smirk that the great Colville (I had done more research into the cases he had solved. Apparently the French Police hated him, simply because he had solved several of their high profile cold cases in half the time it had taken for their files to gather dust. For some reason, him not having all the answers ready for me, made me feel less like a failure.

"Have you any information on this church?"

"It is a Catholic church, not yet recognized by the Vatican. I'm sure this is to keep himself out of sight and out of mind." I had to smile and agree with this him. It surprised me that off all the things to do while trying to hide from his problems was to set up another congregation.

The guilt must have been tearing at him. Save the souls of unsuspecting people saving his own in the process,

Not if I had anything to say about it.

"May I ask how you came across all of this so quickly?" It was gnawing at me that he had seemingly pulled Aringarosa out of thin air.

"I have sources in several areas, many of them travel for me. I simply made mention of a Bishop and a contact of mine pointed me to Spain." While his explanation was sound enough, it was also vague enough to keep me wondering.

"Well Mr. Colville, I'll be needing that information in front of me. I'll be at your office in twenty minutes?" Colville agreed but before he hung up he asked me a very strange question.

"Mademoiselle Conway, as you most likely know, I like to stay involved in the cases I've been given. I would like to travel to Spain with you, if I may?"

If he came, he would find out what I had been planning for months.

"I only required your services to find him Mr. Colville—This is my own dispute."

"You may still need my help Mademoiselle. We may have found the general area he's in but it may still take time to get to him. I can help you there."

I had known I'd still need him the minute he had called after three days to tell me he had found the man I was looking to locate I had proven I was incompetent in that particular task and if it came up again, I would sorely miss any resources I might have had.

Didn't mean I liked the idea of an investigator following me.

I ended up agreeing, and finding that even though I was one step closer to finding Aringarosa, I was one less in feeling like I was doing was the right thing.

Even in doubt, I still felt that rage, the rage that had spoken out through the canvas, bloody and scored with my brush.

I would destroy Aringarosa.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

**A/N: Sorry, long wait once again, but spring is in the AIR! The snow is melting, water mains are breaking, school has no chance of being cancelled now... Just gotta deal with what's given I suppose. I hope I've learned a bit more about Dan Brown's style considering I just finished reading _Angels & Demons_, not what I was expecting let me tell you, but it's definitely got me on a Dan Brown mystery high! ****But, nevertheless, here is another chapter for you to enjoy.**

I sat on my bed for the rest of the day after speaking with Coleville. I had to think of a way to explain my absence to my mother. If the common conception was that a five year old was afraid of lying to their parents, I felt it twice as much at age twenty.

My mother had been honest with me from the moment of my birth. She had raised me, open with the knowledge that my father was out their completing what he thought were grand deeds for humanity. She hadn't lied to me, when a strange pale man had come to visit us, even when I had known him somehow she hadn't lied. She had raised me to see the good in everyone that they were redeemable.

I had believed this until I discovered he had died needlessly. For another man's greed.

I couldn't think of all life as art any longer. Not when I felt that a particular piece needed destroying. Aringarosa was going to be brought to justice, and I was the one to do it. That desire was strong, but the thought of deceiving my mother made my heart feel as though it were ripping at the seams. She would die if she learned of my plan.

I had stared at the same patch of sunlight, following its path across the floor. It wasn't until my mother came home, door slamming shut, that my thoughts were shattered.

I stood, rubbing my suddenly frozen hands on my legs. She would see right through me, whether by maternal intuition or some other unknown source, she would know.

I walked down the stairs and saw my mother standing at the hall table, digging around in her a purse, a large bag of art supplies at her feet.

Art was her life.

Just like _this_ was my life. At the moment.

She heard me coming down the stairs and looked up into the mirror hanging over the table. I saw my ghostly reflection in line with hers.

"Rose, I'm glad you're home, I wanted to talk to you about dinner." I sat down on the steps and met her bright green gaze. I didn't answer. She set down her purse.

"What's wrong?" I quickly shifted my sullen attitude into one of happiness. It was time to lie to her.

"Nothing's the matter, I just have news." My mother turned away from the mirror to look me straight in the face.

"News?" I nodded. She seemed wary for a moment.

"I'm not going to be getting the same talk I gave _my_ mother, am I?" I looked at her confused.

What?

"What are you talking about?" My mother looked oddly relieved.

"Oh… Well, whatever it is, tell me." It took me a minute to realize that my mother had been afraid I was going to tell her I was pregnant, just as she had when she had found herself carrying _me_. I felt my cheeks burst into flame.

"Oh—no… Mother… I, I have to go to Spain in two days." My mother tilted her head.

"You have to go to Spain?" I nodded, here it came, the lie of all lies.

"I sent in a scholarship portfolio a long time ago—I even forgot I had done it, but apparently this organization was impressed with my work. I'll get extra money to go to college, but I have to attend a seminar and an art show in Spain." My mother was quiet for a moment.

"Spain, that's awfully far for an art show." That wasn't the reaction I was hoping for.

"Mom, it's a scholarship, for college… A college we can't afford."

"How much?" I hadn't been expecting the inquisition, I hadn't decided on a number. Of course when I came back, I wouldn't have any money to sneeze at, which meant I had just dug myself into a hole.

Damn.

"I'm not sure, but the tickets are paid for, I'll just have to go. No matter what Mom, it's an honor to even have been invited." I guess that had been satisfactory. She conceded with a nod of her head nod and walked into the kitchen.

"Well, I suppose celebrations are in order. My little angel is going to Spain."

No matter what she said, I could tell she wasn't thrilled.

Which just proved that she knew something was up.

I swore to myself that whatever money I had left after this endeavor I would put it towards my schooling.

**_Two Days Later…_**

I looked out the tiny airplane window, watching large puffy clouds slide across the body of the plane, a chilly caress against an already icy mass.

Coleville sat next to me, flipping through pictures of my—our quarry.

When he had handed me the pictures in the gate waiting area I had been shocked to finally put a face to the name. The man I saw was a rotund man, slightly gaunt around the eyes, his thick dark hair graying. He wore the simple robes of a priest, which was unusual since he was still considered one of the highest-ranking Bishops.

Apparently with divine power came the right to let people die, the Crusades gone modern as it were.

Even though my hatred for this man was still strong, I understood why my father had trusted him, even to his death in that alleyway. The man looked like a kind man of the cloth, a trap I wouldn't fall for now. Nonetheless if I had been a member of his congregation as my father had been, I too would have trusted him.

It was not something I wanted to admit. To me the man was pure evil, but as I looked at the pictures of the man patting the hands of elderly women or kissing the cheek of a baby, I knew this man was loved. His death would hit the community hard. I was so lost in my thoughts I hadn't realized Colville had started speaking to me.

"Mademoiselle Conway?" I took in a deep breath and turned my head to face him.

"I'm sorry, what did you need?"

"I was wondering, what do you _really_ intend for Bishop Aringarosa." My skin went cold.

"Excuse me?" He didn't buy my feign of innocence.

"Mademoiselle. I am paid to observe people, to learn what they don't _want_ to be learned. Your story of finding the Bishop and bringing him to justice was only slightly believable." His dark eyes bore into mine; I wasn't giving up that easily.

"Mr. Colville I don't understand what you're saying." He set the pictures he had been holding down on his in-flight tray.

"Miss Conway—" I interrupted, perhaps if I tried to gain his confidence he would be less questioning of me.

"Please, no more Miss Conway—Call me Rose." He gave me a slightly perturbed look, like once again he was onto my plot.

"Rose, most people who come to me are looking to find the perpetrator, yes, but when they're objective is found, they normally look to let local police enforcement take them in."

"And, what makes you think I don't intend that." I asked, hoping to throw him off.

"Because not once have you asked what sort of enforcement is available in Vejer, nor have you have asked what best course of action for capture is." I tucked a strand of pale hair behind my ear.

"I have a plan sir, I just don't intend to share it unless it's absolutely necessary. I came to you because I'm lacking in resources." He nodded his head, though his eyes told me he didn't believe me.

"I see Mademoiselle Rose. All I can say to that end is that when the time comes, I will not stand in your way—I can only hope your plan does not cause you or anyone else harm."

We sat the rest of the flight in silence. It was at that moment that I had realized that I wasn't as discreet as I had thought. It seemed that anyone who had met me knew that I wanted Aringarosa dead.

We arrived in Spain in the early afternoon, a car ride to Vejer left me somewhat speechless. The monetary situation my mother and I had didn't allow for serious travel, which was a shame, considering many countries held priceless works of art that people like my mother and I would love to see. As I stepped out of the car I was nearly blinded. The village before me was pure white, the architecture, the outdoor artworks; even the roads were in someway, white.

For the first time in my life, I fit in.

I barely had time to register all of this when Colville directed me to a small inn, also white. A small wooden sign hung over the door:

El Asilo Del Ángel

"The Angel's Haven." Coleville translated for me. I looked at him in surprise as we lifted our bags out of the trunk of the car.

"I didn't realize you spoke Spanish Mr. Coleville." He smiled and hefted a bag into one large hand.

"Please, call me Ames," He told me smiling softly, "My line of work requires me to speak to contacts all over the globe, it helps to know a few." I grabbed my own light bag and followed him in.

"All right—Ames."

We were checked in fairly quickly; apparently Ames was no stranger, the concierge quick to upgrade us to a larger room. The somewhat obtuse smile the man behind the counter gave me the distinct feeling he was used to seeing Ames alone.

I began to feel like the butt of a very bad joke.

The room we entered was spacious, clean, and airy. It housed two beds, neatly made up in white linens, adding to the décor of the village itself. A small table set off to the side became the home of our files and information, Ames setting all of this down before depositing his bag on the bed farthest from the window.

"If you get the chance, enjoy the view."

His actions reminded me that I was sharing a room with a man. He seemed to be only a few years older than me, but nonetheless, the thought of sleeping in a room with a man I hardly knew suddenly seemed like a very stupid idea. I don't know if he sensed my sudden apprehension or he too felt somewhat strange being trapped in a room with a twenty-year old woman with murder on her mind. He turned to me and gave another of his rare smiles.

"I promise you Rose, I will take care to keep your comfort in mind." That only settled my mind a little.

If my mother ever knew about this—I wouldn't need to worry about the consequences of law enforcements. I would be dead by her hand before they ever reached me.

I looked out the sheer draped windows and saw a balcony. It overlooked the village, which made this room all the more beautiful. If I ever did have the chance to enjoy the view, I would have to. For now I would occupy my waiting with the information Ames had gathered for me.

I sat at the small table, and surrounded myself with pictures and file pages pertaining to Aringarosa. We would need to find the church he was running and possibly his residence. According to my mother, they were one in the same when she had first met my father. If Aringarosa did live within the church, would that stop me, could I kill on sacred ground?

I suppose I would find out.

I went to sleep that night and dreamed of angels; one in particular had snow white skin and ice blue eyes. A deep sadness emanated from them and he reached his hand out to me, it only occurred to me as he did this, that he was wearing only loin covering. The rest of his pale skin could be seen, and with it the blood that poured down it. The red violated the virgin white skin; some came from his back, some from his scarred legs, most of it from the holes in his chest.

All the wounds he had ever accrued over his lifetime.

In my dream, he reached for me, sadly, his mouth moved but I couldn't hear his words.

What was he saying?

I tried to understand but I couldn't.

As he tried again I saw a black vortex open behind him and my father was sucked into the inky dark. I could hear a scream in my mind and knew it was mine.

My fright woke me and I sat straight up in bed, breathing heavily, hair stuck to my skin from sweat, even though the room was cool, the breeze from the balcony gently puffing past the sheer curtains.

As I controlled my breathing I looked over to Ames' bed, to assure myself I hadn't woken him. It appeared he was still sleeping soundly. I sighed and slid back under the sheets, pushing off the down comforter for the night and pulling my hair away from my sticky skin.

If my father was trying to send me a message from the afterlife, he was too late.

I would find Aringarosa; his death would cleanse my father of his sins. And, my heart of it's pain.

Now it was just a matter of days.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

My eyes snapped open at the sound of a squeaking door. My gaze was met with quite a sight. Just ahead of me a half-clothed Ames was shoulder deep in the wardrobe provided in the room. He was somewhat dressed in light cotton pajama bottoms, but his torso was bare. I could see the muscles in his shoulders contract as he dug through the wardrobe. Any other woman most likely would have blushed or thought romantic bed-leading thoughts.

Not I.

His body impressed me, I imagined having him as a model at my mother and mine's art studio. His lines were magnificent. I'm not sure why I hadn't taken a moment to look at him before. I suppose my objective had made me oblivious.

I was looking at him _now_.

Broad shoulders lead to arms that were proportionate, body-builder he was not, but strength was apparent. His long smooth back was open to my artist's gaze. He was not overly tanned, but to me, everyone was tan. His brown hair was longer than I had first observed, considering it was pulled into a masculine pony at the base of his head.

Oh, how I wanted to paint him.

To put a brush to canvas and immortalize him, it was as sexual a thought an artist could give. To caress the curves of a face with brush tip or sketch the outlines of a model was an intimate experience.

My thoughts however of ravishing on canvas were interrupted as he straightened only to hit his head squarely on the built-in shelf of the wardrobe. He cursed softly, rubbing his cracked skull. I couldn't help but laugh—the thought of this calm and contained detective not observing the presence of a potential threat like the shelf was beyond my comprehension.

Ames wheeled to face me, my outburst of laughter startling him.

"Rose! I didn't mean to wake you." I had to laugh at this understatement.

"Don't worry Ames, my comfort level has not been breeched." His half-naked appearance hit home and in a flash. He pulled a t-shirt up against his chest.

"I apologize—" he started to say but I stepped him by sliding my legs out from under my sheets to walk passed him, I smiled shyly.

"It isn't uncommon for an artist to paint models in the nude Mr. Coleville. Whatever you may think—I'm not embarrassed."

I grabbed a few things and walked to the bathroom, shutting the door with a resolute click. Leaning my forehead against the cool metal, I heard Ames muttering,

"Embarrassing for whom?"

Hearing this I smiled and began my normal morning routine. I turned on the hot water and undressed in front of the mirror. My pale visage stared at me; my blue eyes clear for the first time in a long time. I pushed my light hair out of my face. I watched as the steam from the shower crept up the glass reflection, swallowing me whole.

Is this how _he_ had felt? The man who had fathered me, had he felt himself disappear into the non-existent? What had he felt at all? So many questions crashed around in my mind, splitting into new ones. I would never have the opportunity to ask him.

I had been robbed.

When I stepped into the shower, the water enveloped me, throwing my skin into chaos. Goose bumps and the shock of how cold I was hit me hard. I was falling apart. My earlier humor had disappeared and was replaced with tears. My sadness dripped from my eyes and ran down my face, hiding in the water streaming from the showerhead.

I stood under the beating water until I realized it had gone cold.

Knowing Ames was most likely waiting I finished my toilette as quickly as I could. Today was the day, I hoped, that I would find Aringarosa.

I still hadn't decided how I was going to end his life, but I assumed it would come to me when I got there.

A brilliant tactician, most would agree, I was not, but I had dove in headfirst and now I was going to finish what I had started.

When I left the bathroom, dressed and ready to go, I found the room empty. Ames was nowhere to be seen, this made me wary, I didn't know what to expect from him and to have him disappear on me was unsettling. Until I saw a note propped up against the bedside light.

_Rose,_

_Received a call and must take it in the lobby, will be back as soon as I can. May pertain to whereabouts of runaway. _

_Ames_

My heart beat fast at the prospect of already having found Aringarosa's whereabouts. The man was mine.

I had barely finished reading the note when the door opened and Ames entered with his notebook. I turned from the night table and faced him, I could barley contain the question immediately on the tip of my tongue. He handed me the notebook and I looked down at his newly familiar handwriting. There was an address circled several times on the paper.

I looked up at him, my eyes pleading.

"Is this—" he nodded.

Aringarosa was going to regret the day he had been born.

* * *

When the car pulled up in front of the tiny white church, I didn't know what to say. As was everything else in Vejer the building was pure white. I couldn't see the name of it, which I suppose really didn't matter, since I wasn't here on a religious mission. Tiny stained glass windows were hit with light, bouncing off into the sun-drenched village. 

Ames and I walked to a heavy looking wooden door with an iron handle. Ames reached out and grabbed it, pulling it open. It was surprisingly quiet for such a weighty door. We entered to the sounds of people singing hymns. I looked at Ames who leaned over and whispered into my ear.

"I forgot to mention that there was a Mass."

A detail I would have appreciated knowing beforehand.

We entered from the back and saw the crowded pews, filled with the residents of the village. They all looked expectantly at the altar, where the man I had despised my whole life stood. Arms lifted in religious conviction, he spoke of sacrifice and the suffering of Christ. He spoke as though he were exempt from this sin he spoke of, that he understood the word of God better than all.

The hypocrite of all hypocrites.

As we moved closer I kept my eyes on him. We found, shockingly enough, a pew that was open at one end and slid in. Despite the huge crucifix ahead of me, my soul seethed with anger. How dare the man stand in front of a crowd of people and spout religious doctrine, when he would do most anything to get what he wanted.

Ames sensed my anger, noticing my clenched hand. My anger was so consuming that it was a surprise to feel his hand take mine. I looked down in shock at our entwined hands.

I don't remember ever feeling like I did at the moment, and my anger subsided slightly. As I cooled down I watched Aringarosa again, my eyes boring into him. He looked up from his notes and for a moment he saw me. He stuttered for a moment, his hands falling from their adoring pose. His congregation continued to look at him, eager for his next words and growing confused when he did not.

I knew he had thought I was someone else.

My pale skin and blue eyes—I knew I looked just like my father.

And for a moment, Aringarosa had feared his sins had come for him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

**A/N: Sorry about the long wait. Papers, Film Projects, and other stuff has left me with very little time. This will get done, I swear. I know this is a short chapter, but, it'll get better :0)**

* * *

I was amazed at how calm I was during the Mass. I had assumed I would be tense and give myself away somehow, but after Ames had touched my hand I had relaxed, my breathing slowing and my heart beating at a normal pace. I watched Aringarosa as he gathered his composure once more and continued on his vendetta against Hell. I felt like I was watching from outside of my body, I can't explain it. I just didn't feel I was within myself. It was strange, feeling emotionless and yet completely clear of mind. My thoughts weren't laced with death threats or hatred, I simply wanted to finish what I had come to accomplish.I was so focused I didn't realize until I heard the shuffling of Sunday programs and hymnbooks that the service was over. I stood with the other church members and filed out in time with them. I allowed myself to be swallowed by the bustling congregation. I only allowed myself to look back once and saw Ames looking around wildly. His urgent look told me that he knew I was planning something much more dire than simply glancing at Aringarosa.

Quite the private detective he was.

I slid passed a white marble pillar, willing my alabaster flesh to blend in, my freckles becoming imperfections in its smooth skin. I held my breath as he passed me. For a moment I thought he would spot me and I considered running. Not even, someone who had shown me a small kindness, who wasn't frightened by my whitewash flesh and strange eyes.

I would lose all that if I went through with my plan.

I was just terrified of letting Aringarosa getting away with his evil deeds. 

I shook my head, freeing my thoughts of the dark haired man that kept entering without my permission.

For him, I would give it up, this plan of mine. I had only known him a short time, and yet I felt like my life would be better spent seeing that man smile.

I needed to focus again.

I slipped down the hallway unnoticed, my pale skin the perfect cover in an all white building. I found Aringarosa's office soon enough and slipped inside. Aringarosa hadn't yet come back from speaking with remaining members of the congregation outside. I walked around the spacious office, looking at all the fine things on his desk. A man who had caused so much death didn't deserve half of what I saw there. 

My eyes fell on a silver letter opener, its sharp edge glinting in the sunlight.

Perfect.

I grabbed it and prepared myself for Aringarosa's arrival. I heard footfalls coming down the hall and I retreated into the shadows of the office, waiting for my prey to make his way to me. The door opened and Aringarosa entered, shutting the door behind him. He came to his desk and sat, sighing. He rubbed his forehead, leaning back against the chair. 

I watched him grow old in front of me; the pressures of his life were coming at him hard. I could see it.

It didn't matter anyway.

II moved closer, hand gripping the letter opener tightly. I was silent, my footfalls no more,

I raised the opener up, the tip, sharp, looking to bite into skin. I brought it up, ready to plunge it into Aringarosa's back.

I looked to finish the deal when there was a knock at the door. Aringarosa looked up at the sound.

"Come in." I matched Aringarosa's gaze and nearly died from shock. 

Ames was standing in the doorway, staring straight at me.

"Excuse me sir, but I have a religious dilemma."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

**A/N: Almost done children! At least one more chapter after this, but at least we're wrapping it up right? I'm interested in knowing what you would like to see happen between Ames and Rose. Let me know my dears and I will see if I can work it into my nefarious plans evil laugh. Enjoy! **

I couldn't believe it. I thought I had avoided him, that he had gone looking somewhere else for me. I had once again underestimated Ames. It became apparent that he understood what my plan had been and how stupid I was to let him come with me. Aringarosa looked up from his desk.

"What can I do for you my son?" Ames moved closer, careful not to face me.

"Father, my dilemma is whether or not I should betray someone I've come to consider a close friend." Aringarosa leaned back putting a hand to his chin.

"Betrayal is a harsh word my son, what sort of thing requires such a thought?"

"Murder." Ames replied coolly. Aringarosa stopped stroking his chin and stared at Ames, I felt my heart stop.

Was he going to build Aringarosa up until he figured out I was standing behind him, hand clenched around a letter opener, ready to murder him? For a moment, only a moment I felt Ames' death would be imminent. Seeing as I am not truly a killer, the second I thought of it I felt ill.

"My son if you if you know someone was going to murder another innocent soul, you must tell the proper authorities!" Ames sat in the chair ahead of Aringarosa.

"But father, the one they intend to kill is far from innocent. He hides behind the skirts of his faith, even though he sent an innocent man to his death."

Even though I couldn't see Aringarosa's face, the back of his neck paled. I didn't know if that meant he knew I was there or if he knew who Ames was talking about.

"Does that give your friend the right to choose before God's justice?" Ames tapped his fingers on Aringarosa's desk.

"What if God's justice is too slow Father? Every breath this man takes is a sin. He allowed a man to die for a cause that is unholy in its own right and deprived a child of their father." Aringarosa, who had only just recovered from Ames' words, croaked a reply.

"My son, God's justice is never too slow, it comes precisely when He plans it." I could tell Ames' plan was reaching its peak and tightened my grip around the opener once more.

"So," Ames said slowly, pointing in my direction, "I should let her kill you?" Aringarosa stood with a start and whirled to face me, his robes whipping around the desk legs. His dark Spanish flesh had drained of color, his brown eyes wide and fearful as a frightened animal's.

"You! You—you were in the congregation this morning!" I didn't speak, just stared at him, the man who had taken so much away from me. When I was younger I had imagined him coming to get me too, breathing fire and champing at me with ragged teeth. Now that he stood in front of me, nothing but a trembling coward hiding in priestly robes, I was disgusted.

"You don't know me, do you?" I asked finally.

"My daughter, I am afraid I—" I stopped him from speaking by brandishing the opener at his heart.

"How DARE you call me daughter! I HAVE no father thanks to you!" Aringarosa lifted his hands in retreat.

"My child, I don't even know who you are—how could I have done what you say?" I moved closer.

"Look at my skin, my eyes, _tell_ me you have never seen such flesh—the color of an _angel's_." At this Aringarosa's breath paused.

"Now it's coming back to you," I continued, "Silas, the man you made into your pet project, the man who fell in love with a woman and wanted to be with her. Silas the man you claimed to love as a son—the one you let die for your precious council's games." Aringarosa shook his head.

"No. Silas had no family. No."

"He _did_ have a family you bastard, my mother and I. We were his family.

Aringarosa clutched his robes.

"He would have told me—I. No. He couldn't…" the man babbled, I quieted him with another feint of my wrist.

"I was his daughter, but he gave me up for you; because he trusted you. He gave up my mother FOR YOU!" My once calm shell had cracked. I could feel my own hysteria bubbling up, pushing to be free. Here I was the spitting image of my father and Aringarosa still didn't see me. Just as my father had been so many years ago.

"You would have been an infant." Aringarosa whispered. I snorted.

"I was four when I met him and I was four when he died. I've had a lot of time to think about what you did." Suddenly Aringarosa's hand fumbled for the handle of a drawer on his desk. It startled me and I became defensive once more. Both Aringarosa and I froze when the click of a gun being cocked echoed through the office. I looked up and saw Ames pointing a pistol at Aringarosa.

A gun. That would have been handy to have when I was looking for a suitable weapon.

Aringarosa paled further, his swarthy skin taking on a sickly yellow tint.

"I am just going to show you something I have kept all these years." Ames gave a slight nod and tracked Aringarosa's hand as the man dug blindly in the drawer. After a second he brought his hand back out and a tattered piece of paper came with it.

"I've spent years trying to figure out why Silas had this when he—" Aringarosa trailed off.

"When he _died_?" I finished bitterly. Aringarosa nodded.

"I never knew." He said softly.

"Yes you did," Ames said, startling us both again, "but like most people, you ignored it." Aringarosa slowly handed me the ragged paper. I nearly cried out as I realized what it was.

It was my first attempt at a family portrait.

Over-proportioned heads and clubbed feet were a norm then. I had nothing but tears as I looked at it. They were frightened away the instant I heard sirens. My head snapped up from the drawing to meet Ames' eyes. He gave me a little shrug.

"I have secrets too."

My blood ran cold as he said this. Was he turning me in as well? It was almost as thought he had read my mind.

"Don't worry Rose. I don't intend on you being arrested. We simply had the same objective. To find Aringarosa, only my job was to bring him back alive." I looked at him confused.

"What?" Ames sighed and motioned for Aringarosa to sit.

"Sit Father, the authorities will be here in a moment." With his gun still trained on the Bishop he explained.

"About a month before you came to me for help, I had been sent information from the Vatican. They were looking for Aringarosa. That's why when you contacted the Church, they turned you away." It dawned on me what he meant.

"Because they didn't know where he was _either_."

"Precision." Ames answered.

"They knew of my accomplishments and wanted me to find him. At first I wasn't interested in involving myself in the religious affairs of the Catholic Church, but when you came to me looking for help, I decided it was worth my time." I could feel my brows rising into my hairline. This whole time I felt as though I was the only one who had cared to find Aringarosa, the treacherous snake.

"Why did they want him back?" Ames shrugged.

"Most likely to dispose of him in their own way. He and his Council of Shadows caused quite a bit of publicity when they attempted to silence their rivals." Aringarosa couldn't keep silent.

"They were spreading lies about the Church, smearing our beliefs of Christ!" At this I grew angry and lunged at him with my opener.

"You smeared it yourself you self-serving—" before I could get to him Ames caught me, pulling me away.

"Either way Rose, he will be brought to justice. The Vatican has assured me it has nothing to do with his Council." I gave a hearty and very sarcastic laugh.

"I'm sure." Ames gave me a somewhat meek look. He understood it seemed that this man had brought me a lifetime of pain without my father's guidance.

"Take some humor in the fact they wanted me to bring him in quietly. However, your desire to finish him off left me with little choice but to call the local authorities. This will spread like wildfire." As he said this, the doors to the study were thrown open, an echoing bang from the wood smacking the wall scared all three of us. Ames quickly whipped out his investigative badge and a paper that must have explained everything because Aringarosa was soon bundled up and handcuffed into a car. Taken away so quickly my head spun in trying to figure out what was going.

We were escorted back to our hotel, attempting to avoid prying eyes and the congregation that had come to love Aringarosa stood, women with hands over shocked and open mouths. Men with hands balled on hips, shaking their heads in disbelief that the man sent to save their souls was in need of some soul-saving himself. It was a sight to be sure.

I was still in a state of shock as Ames and I made our way back to our room, it hadn't hit me yet that my justice had all been taken away. My plan thwarted and the culmination of events leaving everything unfinished.

And yet.

I was at peace.

That night I dreamt of my father. His skin no longer bearing the scars and angry welts of his cleansing, his eyes weren't dulled with pain and confusion. He smiled at me, holding his arms out in a way I had never experienced.

"Rose." He said in the strange accent I barely remembered. I went to him. I was four again, running to my father, gathered into his warm and waiting arms. For the first time in my life I had a father.

And, it was more real than anything in my life had ever been.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

**A/N: Well midears... Here it is. I'm sad to be done with my Da Vinci Code FF's, but I must say I'm quite proud of myself to have stuck it through and completed them. If you have any ideas that include these characters, I would adore hearing about them. There may, perhaps, if I have time, be an epilogue, just so there's a follow-up. We shall have to see. Well, I'm off dear readers, to get some sleep, but please. Enjoy the last (most likely) installment of _La Figlia Del Fantasma.  
_**

* * *

****The second and final night we were there, the village was _still_ abuzz about Aringarosa's arrest. Apparently this pure little town had never witnessed such scandal. All manner of protest broke out from two-second riots to candlelight vigils surrounding Aringarosa's, once, sanctuary. None of it mattered to me. 

I felt like I should be angry that my moment to have my vengeance had been taken away. I didn't. In fact the only thing I had felt since I had fallen asleep, was relief. I had spent so much of my life, loathing Aringarosa and wishing him dead; it hadn't occurred to me what would have happened to me if I _had_ succeeded in murdering him. None of the hopes and dreams of becoming an artist would have happened, and seeing my always-sacrificing mother, resting would never have been possible. What **did** annoy me, was I was so blinded by rage I hadn't seen it.

I owed it to Ames for reminding me.

I was sitting on the balcony of our room, for once enjoying the beauty of the Spanish countryside. I could hear the television on in the room; it was set on the BBC. I could hear the final moments of their top-story "the Arrest of Aringarosa".

"According to sources, Aringarosa will stand trial as an accessory to four murders in Paris nearly sixteen years ago, including the brutal murder of Jacques Saunière, curator of the Louvre at that time. He will also be charged with conspiracy and the death of a young monk in his care. The Vatican has denied any knowledge of Aringarosa's actions."

Hearing the charges against Aringarosa made me feel better. I don't know, considering it wasn't my original plan—but if Aringarosa was behind bars for the rest of his pitiful life. I could live with that. I heard the TV be clicked off and soft footsteps behind me.

"You're not going to jump are you?" I looked up at Ames, confused. I realized all of a sudden that he was commenting on how I was sitting, legs tossed over the ledge of the balcony, feet swinging freely in the air. I laughed softly and pulled my legs up to my chest, turning to lean against one of the balcony's pillars.

"Not today I'm afraid." Ames sat down on the ledge beside me. He stared at his hands for what seemed forever, it gave me a chance to look at him again. Which I had decided was something I would like to do more often. His hair was free of its tie, it hanging loose around his shoulders. For some reason it made me see him as more of a young man, rather than a very good private detective. His youthfulness was refreshing to me, considering I had spent most of my life being old.

It was then that it hit me how confused I was about what I felt for him. I had only known him a short time, but I felt myself attracted to him, as I never had about anyone else. It was confusing for someone such as me, who had spent so much time alone, paying little, to know attention to the opposite sex. I didn't have a chance to bemoan my puzzled state of mind. Ames looked up from his fingers and at me, startling me with intense brown eyes.

"I'm almost sorry I took away your glory." I matched his gaze.

"What do you mean?" he shifted to face me better.

"For me, this is just a religious matter that got out of hand. I barely knew anything about it when you came to me." He stopped for a moment, regrouping his thoughts.

"But, when I met that man, and heard what he had to say, I can understand. To know what he did, it's far from forgivable." My heart felt lighter, having someone tell you that they understood was enough. I had been waiting for someone to tell me they empathized with me, and why I would want Aringarosa dead, but it had never occurred.

"As much as I appreciate hearing that, if it hadn't been for you—I'd most likely be sitting in jail for murder." He nodded and stood, sticking his hands in his pockets.

"Doesn't make it any less understandable why you would want to see Aringarosa dead. He robbed you of your father, I can't say that if I were in your place I would have done differently." I smiled, for the first time, for as long as I can remember.

"Thank you Ames—for understanding _and_ for stopping me before I did something terrible." He smiled back and I felt a shiver of excitement race down my spine. We were silent for another moment as Ames paced the balcony slowly. I looked out over the white city, the protests finally quieting and the beauty of the place only more potent. I was startled once more when Ames stopped abruptly, looking at me anxiously.

"I can't let this go on." I looked at him tensely.

"Beg your pardon?" I could tell he was just as nervous as I was, but why?

"Rose, I can't let you go back to Paris without knowing something." He moved forward, his hands clenching in his pockets. I couldn't speak; I waited for him to continue. He did a few seconds later.

"Rose, when I work a case I work under very strict rules of never getting too involved in the crime I'm investigating, and never getting involved with my clients." My eyebrows shot together, why was he saying these things to me?

"I've found myself wanting to _break_ those rules the last few days Rose—I've never found myself so attracted to someone and intrigued by their very presence." My heart could have stopped at that moment and I wouldn't have known.

"Ames I—" He freed a hand from his pocket, silencing me.

"Rose, I—I don't want this to be the last time I see you. I _can't_ let this be the last time I see you… So I guess what I'm trying to say is—when we get back to Paris, do you think you would mind us seeing each other?" I couldn't tell if he meant us dating, or simply being friends. I was absolutely frustrated with my lack of experience. I swallowed.

"I don't want this to be the last time I see you either Ames. You've been more than a detective to me, I would like nothing else then to see you when we get home." He seemed relieved and returned to sit next to me. He smiled shyly from behind big, brown eyes.

"I'm glad you feel that way… I was afraid you'd say you never want to see me again." I shook my head.

"Why would I say that?" he shrugged.

"I'm not sure, just normal fear of rejection." He laughed, "I may be good at solving cases, but I'm horrible when it comes to this." We were silent again, looking out over the horizon and becoming shy around one another.

"Why?" Ames looked at me, puzzled by my outburst.

"What?" I leaned forward so a curtain of my hair hid my face somewhat.

"Why would you be interested in me?" Ames slid forward and pushed the wall of my hair back, exposing me to his gaze again.

"Who wouldn't be Rose? You are a goddess among women." I could feel the color rising in my cheeks.

"No… No."

"Yes, yes." He said softly, still looking at me.

"Physically speaking, you are gorgeous. Your hair is like gold, your skin is beautiful, and your eyes… I've never seen eyes so blue in my life. Don't get me started on your smile—" he said, his own smile wide as I laughed. "For the rest of you, you're intelligent, you can be humorous when you let yourself, and you're determined to accomplish your goals. As I've said, you are a goddess among women, don't ever think otherwise." I gave a slight sigh.

"You're too kind." Ames moved his hand to my face, his hand soft and warm against my flesh.

"It's not being kind when it's true." His thumb moved over the ridge of my cheek and all I could think was that I wanted him to touch me, to hold me, to make me smile more. I wanted him in my life. I realized when coming to my senses after his touch that he was leaning in slowly.

He was going to kiss me.

I didn't stop him.

When his lips met mine I knew I could say that of all of the first kisses that had ever been given, _mine_ was the most perfect.

Perhaps this was how my father had felt when my mother had seen him. When she had deemed him worthy of her art.

The absolute perfection of having someone care for you, no matter what you thought of yourself.

It may sound cliché to say that I had fallen for Ames, and if it is, so be it. I had. We went back to the room and sat on a bed, just holding one another for the rest of the night, a journey to find the devil bringing the two of us together. My heart was light, no longer the rock I had believed it was.

For a moment I thought about what my mother would think and I knew she would understand. Maybe not the sharing of the hotel room, but that Ames had become to _me_ what _she_ had been to my father all of those years ago. She would see the change in me.

No soy un Fantasma. I am not a ghost.

I am Rose.

And I am whole.


End file.
